
Her face, worn and pale, flickered
When the distant echo of laughter
From those children, swathed in wool
And gathered round embers of charcoal,
Warmed, in her heart, a perpetual winter
~ Akanksha Gupta

Her face, worn and pale, flickered
When the distant echo of laughter
From those children, swathed in wool
And gathered round embers of charcoal,
Warmed, in her heart, a perpetual winter
~ Akanksha Gupta
I adore cooking. Mostly cooking up things. Sometimes it’s food. Palatable, usually. Here’s one of my many wacky dishes.
RICE ‘N’ CHIPS
Doritos crumbled into rice swathed in egg mayonnaise seasoned with a thousand islands and sprinkled with grated cheese and red chilli

because there is poetry in food … and food for thought
You know you’re in University
When your taste buds have worn out
With the bland and the boring
And the numbingly unalluring
“Things” to eat
And you know when you’ve crunched
On supermarket candies and cookies
For days, mayhaps even weeks
Because winters have come
With blanket retreats
You know you’ve truly forgotten
How the good food melts like
On your tongue
For to walk a mile
(Or what seems like one during exams)
Is a real problem
But when your stomach starts wheezing
And your bread is hosting fungus
Oh your jam’s got it too
You walk that mile (despite a humongous workload)
But your options are too few
So you don’t even take the road
Less travelled by
But get off of the fork
You wade through the forest
And pick that what might just work
– Akanksha Gupta
Politics is messed up and in return, I am lousy at it. It is a very healthy relationship I assure you; of being uninterested, apathetic, uncaring, and indifferent and all the synonyms you can find in the thesaurus for the word “voter”. Do note that the word ‘voter’, here, not only refers to those who vote but also those who can but prefer not to.
And I appreciate the voters who don’t vote. After all, they must have more pressing concerns such as working to put food on the table. They have no reason to care about which candidate gets elected or what schemes he proposes. Those schemes are never going to bear them fruits. But yes, if they must, they would rather vote for the candidate that delivers promises before the elections even begin. After all, he ‘shows’ promise despite his track record. Now, while most cultures may call this ‘bribery’ and condemn it for being a despicable act, the truth remains that nobody would admit but everybody is guilty of it. And that makes the whole world which includes those who vote and those who don’t equally and unequivocally a despicable lot. Since everybody is born this way, no-one is alone in being lazy and dishonest. Thus, without shame I can confess to you, one voter to another, I’m one who’d rather not vote.
THE UNVARNISHED TRUTH BEHIND AN ELECTION MANIFESTO
I will get up
And wash about
Me, my house
I will drink
To the health
Of me, my house
I will eat
To fill the tums
Of me, my house
I will work
Hard to earn
For me, my house
Day after tomorrow
I will do all I can
For me, my house
Tomorrow I will plan
The how-to-do
For me, my house
And I will want today
Your support
For me, my house
For what is mine
Is yours too
Even me, my house
And together
We sink or swim
That is our house
Coz ‘everyday’ comes
But the day after ‘tomorrow’
In this blessed house
However, I vote. Despite the fact that the higher echelons of the society are infested with petty politics of a silver tongued governance riddled with corruption, I vote. After all, the media has spiced it up into a soap opera, irresistible even to the likes of me. And I absolutely despise it; a love-hate relationship. Moreover, I want to feel like Santa Claus. I want to know which candidate has been good and deserves a gift. It gives me a perverse guilty pleasure to note that no politician deserves it. Still I vote; partly because I am inclined to put up the pretense of a nice active voter who cares and partly because if I am to give up my nation to vultures I’d rather choose the least greedy one. So yes, while I am lousy at politics and would rather not dirty my hands with it, I refuse to sit on the sidelines and accelerate the rot. Who knows? Once in a blue moon, the tide may change and long-sought changes may be wrought.
BIRDS OF A FEATHER
Look at those giant feathery folks
That poke their beaks into businesses
That bother them not
And rather than lay an apology
Thickly and swift
Their tongues erupt into
Hackneyed discourses and juvenile diatribes
That fail to eclipse their wilted wit
So much so that these long weathered ears
Grow wary of potential permanent abuse
Especially as their voices grow louder
And their stilted stature elevates
Mayhap it’s their nearness
But as their beaks elongate
I wonder how many of us
Are blind by choice
And how many oblivious
But it is quite certain that the giants seem
(Beyond their bulbous beaks)
Unable to see
Or care about
Our apathetic visage
And a pathetic state of affairs
~ Akanksha Gupta
(PS: This article was published in HKUST Wings 23.1)
Two left feet fishing
The ground for latitude
Burnt in the agony
Of soundless sonnets
With little gratitude
~ Akanksha Gupta
My limerick entry for Limerick Challenge Week 7: Gratitude hosted by ‘ Mind and Life matters
I know you’re bugged
By the erroneous syntax
In the title
The fact that
It wasn’t affixed
By “the” honorific
Makes you seem
So inconsequential
After all
Ultimately
You’re psyched to serve
“The” client
But by my word
Your stubborn refusal
To run trivial errands
Makes my fingers
Itch
With frustration
And mind
Limp
With denial
But even as the
Java codes with
JavaScript
Met initially
At crossroads
With no way
To synchronize
That you finally
Responded
However stilted
The reaction
Ignited minds
Renewed passion
And thus molding
The codes
Despite the crossroads
Continued in this
Singleton fashion
~ Akanksha Gupta

The App & Web Development Team
If we think beyond
We can unravel any riddle
The more that we discover
Further will grow the puzzle
‘Coz we’re smaller than small
With the wisdom of one cycle
In the great scheme of things
We’re too inconsequential
This world began weaving its secrets
With the sacred thread of time
Now they have grown too huge
For us to be able to divine
And all those secrets are linked together
So intricately
That weaving and unweaving them
We will never run out of curiosity
In my opinion, the world is built upon rationality and everything that happens here results from and into a process; a long drawn and complex one, with intertwining cycles and hierarchies. But limited knowledge and limited time prevent us from completely discerning it. Furthermore, since we have different emotional responses and perceptions, we reason out every outcome differently.
For instance, consider death. Everyone has a different interpretation; from scientists who call it thermodynamics and cell degradation, to religious scholars who call it the path to after-life. Now, as rationally thinking individuals, we generally base our arguments on indisputable scientific facts. We find it difficult to swallow the religious explanation. Religion, many say, has no justification, yet it exists. It’s a matter of perception. Even the seemingly most unjustifiable thing can be justified. All that is required is a different approach, a different perspective and a different school of thought.
Let us apply this to religion. Religion too has a variety of schools of thought. While one says it exists, the other believes it to be a conspiracy by the powerful to control the weak. There are also those that believe that religion was conceived to put keep a check on human arrogance and deceit. However, simply because we do not have enough time and knowledge, we cannot dismiss the possibility of religions and their Gods existing. In other words, that which cannot be reasoned by quantification used by hard sciences cannot be automatically deemed unreasonable. It can be explained using softer philosophies.
Spirituality, a product of economics and anthropology, is one such philosophy. In principle, many of us are skeptical about it. We tend to complain that misfortune does not spare morally upright and honest men. That it has no justification. Now, this is not true. Take the example of natural disasters that wipe out tons of people. They probably arise from geographical factors that are too massive to mitigate or presently too complex for science to predict.
Few also call them a natural population control mechanism. Such statements, though, are frowned upon. The society may subliminally realize the truth in them yet consider them improper justifications. But you see, justification is not a matter of being nice or right or wrong; but simply of reasoning out everything.
To illustrate, a man who meets with an accident is not “deserving” of it. The accident can be caused by a variety of factors such as the vehicle quality, its makers, the road, the traffic, the driver and so on. The list is endless. But all these possible reasons is why a particular vehicle meets with an accident, while its severity determines the fate of the driver.
In other words, nothing in this universe can be accidental, not even what we deem accidents. By objectively observing all the factors, we can paint a very logical picture; one that isn’t necessarily nice, but honest.
This conclusion brings us to The Leibnitz Principle of Sufficient Reason. It quantifies the very process of reasoning to show how all logical arguments mesh together to culminate into the best possible outcome at the appropriate time. And, to quote Einstein, “The only reason for time is so that everything doesn’t happen at once”.
Sieving through all that old and rotten
And downtrodden mush stuffed
And heaved into a jarred head
My dread increases with the hour
Beads of sweat trickle down
A hairy mess crested atop
Of leaves aged with fungi
And yellowed by fingers
Strumming without a stop
Even as these eyes close in fatigue
And the fingers retire
The mush screams in disbelief
Misunderstanding satire
But these ears are now
Dead to all sounds
Of whether snoring and storing
Or sorting and pouring
Through soft copies and
Hard bounds
– Akanksha Gupta (poem only)

On my windowsill
The woodland pixies sit still
With a touch too much
Of guileless innocence
In their toothless pink smiles
Peeking through an emerald sprawl
That glows greener in the twilight
And they, the peeping pixies,
Blush
Like ethereal brides
Brimming with unbidden delight
Awaiting the dawn
That adorns the skies
With a pale luminescence
That graces the emeralds
With a teary reminiscence
And showers the dewy air
With tender sleepy kisses
From the wine-tainted pouts
Of sleeping beauties
That slowly awaken
To the golden tendrils of sunlight
Streaming in
And to the euphony of birds
Twittering
And they – they sit still and listen
Serene, poised, tranquil
Their hush is overwhelming
More so when the midsummer sun
Glowers at the still blushing brides
Whose painted lips huff and smirk
In silent amusement
While the sun
Suitably offended
Seems to stiffen
With the unspoken challenge
And puffs out hot winds that plow
Ruthlessly through the green
Like fiery, fearless stallions,
Marauding deliriously
In response, at first,
Pink lips seem to part in protest
And then pant with an insatiable thirst
Before they smile once again
And keep smiling stubbornly
Gradually –
Gradually the fire furrows and
Licks feebly at the pink and the green
Until the dying embers wheeze their last
And slump in defeat
Leaving the pixies to sashay
In the lingering radiance of their victory
The moon too softly beams down at
The steady smiles
Perched upon the green beauties
But as the nights grow darker and aloof
The smiles grow bittersweet and wrinkly
A little parched and weathered too
Until one fine cold wintry day
They eventually wither away and droop
But not before a lulling scent
Of newborn babes fills the air
Their toothless pink smiles burnish
Once again in the lush green lair
And thus the pouting pixies sit still
For an eternity on my windowsill
…
~ Akanksha Gupta ~
Perfection is abstract
Abstract concepts are subjective
To every individual
They seem to be distinctive
Yet no pair of eyes
Can claim objective observation
And thus if they see it
It’s their perception of perfection
But since nobody is perfect
And since there is no universal definition
Nobody has the ability to be perfect
By the inherent virtue of perfection
Though on their own they can
Strive for their self-defined ideal
But once they reach and cease
There would be no progressive fuel
This lack of impetus
Would stop further innovation
And a stagnant world would spiral
Into its own rot and degradation
And thus we return to the web
Of subjectivity and motivation
And to the existential crisis
The Shakespearean question;
The possibility to be
Or not to be
That weaves a delicious irony
Of perfection and imperfection
Do you know why we have so many matrimonial services? Because it is difficult to find the perfect life partner. Everyone has a different nature and nurture, and therefore, a very different view of what a ideal being is. Furthermore, their perceptions keep evolving with time.
For instance, in the 17th Century, the society defined a perfect, accomplished woman as one well-versed in a variety of homely arts and social etiquette (Sense the sensibilities of Pride and Prejudice here?). Had the society remained constant in its views of a perfect women, we would still be afflicted with gender roles today. The world would have made no progress.
Take another example. If we had believed that the first phones invented were absolutely flawless, we would have never made smart phones. We would have not invented beyond a certain creative threshold.
That is why it is said that “Forget perfection. There is a crack in everything. That is what lets the light get in.” In other words, we can always find potential for improvisation in every sphere.
However, let us assume for a moment that it is indeed possible to achieve perfection. To begin with, is there any universally agreed upon definition of what that may entail? Your version of perfection may very well be flawed to me. Perfection, therefore, lies in the eyes of the beholder.
The only perfect persona we can achieve is the one that we conceive. For that, we keep on improving and changing for the better. In other words, we strive to be more perfect than before. And herein lies the irony of trying to be perfect but not having the ability to become so.
In short, while nobody is perfect, everyone has the ability to overcome any imperfections in the constant endeavor for self-development where sky is the limit.
– Akanksha Gupta
I sigh in exasperation
Whenever
Twice
An annoyingly familiar voice
Gratingly booms
Across the loudspeaker
Without a hint of tired repetition
(Such are the ills of mechanization)
And drones on unneeded explanations
With the gentle elegance of a woman
Drenched in the self-importance
That comes exclusively
With a sense of anonymity
And with the state of being
Soaked in a nervous air
That is nauseatingly muffled
By the conspicuous absence
Of a visible audience
– Akanksha Gupta (poem only)
My mother is a raging optimist
At times it seems rather unrealistic to me
You see I am an enraged realist
A word that eludes her dictionary
Why else would she ask
Why my poetry
Reeks of emotions and realities
Swept into the recesses
Of minds
Frightened by their existence
And their intensity
Well, I say nothing; nothing at all
If I say poetry comes from the heart
She’d be heartbroken
She’d believe mine to be
An eternally aggrieved constitution
If I say poetry speaks only the truth
She’d be perplexed and horrified
She’d believe my lenses to be
Filtered of all joys in life
If I say my poetry portrays stark emotions
She’d likely misconstrue the remark
She’d stare deep into my eyes to find
The glowing wit and the undead spark
So I say nothing; for there is nothing to
One day perhaps she’d see what I do;
A world shrouded in the dark
With streaks of light pouring in
The hunger, the rags, the loan sharks
With generous dollars sneaking in
The tragedies and their tender scars
With hope and healing seeping in
One day she’d see
That my poetry
Isn’t as cynical or resigned;
It is truthful, it is impassioned
It is serene, it is sublime
It talks of the past, the present, the future
It travels through all the good and bad times
It tells you without mercy, by and by exactly
How cruel sometimes the world can be
But it tells you there is hope yet
It tells you not to despair
That there will be pain yes,
But good cheer will reign again
For there will be death of the bygones
If a new lease of life must be spelled
So yeah, it tells you Shakespeare was right
To say that all’s well that ends well
– Akanksha Gupta (poem only)
Like a ship
To the land
Is anchored, and
Like an animal
Of the wild
Is leashed
We are waiting
Forever
To be freed
From the constraints
Within
It is the stifling
School of Thought
That has schooled us
Into a way of life
Caged within
A point of view
And we are comfortable
Within its familiarity –
Release us unto
A world unknown
And we’d have no clue
What to do
Or where to
Haul that anchor
And hook it anew
Now it is too late to be unhooked
From the familiarity of being hooked
– Akanksha Gupta (poem only)

Ear splitting
Tortured
Hunted and haunted
They are screams
They are screaming
My head is ringing
Despite the silence
My head is filled
With soulful cries
With unheard protests
And endless lies
These wails are prescient
These walls are ancient
And my head is resonating
Across time and tide
My eyes are glassy
Shut tight
And while I may be brazen
On the outside
Inside
My head is reflecting
The painful cries
Spilling unto deafened ears
Ears deafened by silent voices
Voices fatigued with endless wait
In a world where
Speech is an improvement upon silence
What prevails is speechlessness
– Akanksha Gupta (only poem)